You can play these games in groups — by, say, having one person read aloud (this will probably get even more fun as the reader's voice slurs and his/her eyes lose focus). However, they are perhaps best attempted — like great writing — alone with your secret fantasies, your thwarted desires, and your gnawing fear that you will never really amount to anything in this bleak, meaningless life.
Thomas Pynchon: Drink every time someone has a stupid name, like "Eigenvalue."
David Foster Wallace: Drink every time a sentence has three or more conjunctions.
William Faulkner: Every time a sentence goes on for more than a page, drink the entire bottle. Then make out with your sister.
Joyce Carol Oates: Drink every time there is a home invasion.
Jane Austen: Drink every time someone plays whist, goes riding, or gets married.
J.D. Salinger: Every time there is a symbol of lost innocence, drink a highball. Then spit it all over someone you love.
Emily Bronte: Drink every time you see the word "heath" (Heathcliff counts).
Gabriel García Márquez: Drink every time someone's name is "Aureliano." (Note: this only works for A Hundred Years of Solitude)
Virginia Woolf: First, go buy some flowers. Then, if you have time left over, drink.
Sappho: Drink every time you can't tell if something is hot or disgusting.
Ernest Hemingway: Drink every time Ernest Hemingway is boring and overrated. Man, I am so wasted right now.
Raymond Chandler: Drink every time someone drinks.
Dashiell Hammett: Drink every time someone drinks.
Homer: Drink every time someone drinks gross diluted wine.
Stephenie Meyer: Drink every time someone drinks blood.
Dylan Thomas: Drink until you are in a coma.
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